


Hope you know (how to swim)

by Racethewind_10



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Sand everywhere, Skinny Dipping, Trust me on this one, don't skinny dip in the ocean kids, liberties taken with the California coastline, semi future fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy’s lips taste like salt and the remains of whatever lip balm she was wearing and she’s gentle and careful, warm where the rest of Alex is cold – except for her hands, because they’ve found their way to Lucy’s hips. Lucy kisses like she means it, like she wants it, slow and sure and wickedly skillful and Alex feels uncertain and clumsy but she’s as full as the ocean she’s standing in, awash with a hunger she’s denied for so long the sudden realization threatens to drag her down like an undertow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope you know (how to swim)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/gifts).



> No i wasn't kidding about the 'don't skinny dip in the ocean' ESPECIALLY not the Pacific okay? Its called poetic license. No I'm not speaking from experience...*shifty eyes*
> 
> This one is Trancer's fault - written for the prompt 'skinny dipping'

Alex wants to be irritated at the intrusion, but one glance at the woman sitting on the hood of her car, beer bottle dangling loosely from her fingers, head tipped back against the windshield and eyes closed against the setting sun and Alex shoves the frustration at finding someone in  _her_ spot down back into the bottom of her stomach.  

Still, the intrusion is unexpected, nearly as unexpected as the car Lucy’s driving. The classic Mustang is definitely a surprise. Alex never would have pegged Lucy for the muscle car type. Sensible black government-issue sedan? Sure. Gleaming cherry red convertible? Nope. It’s in beautiful condition too. But it’s presence here throws Alex more than the car’s existence.  Lucy seems to be handling civilian life okay, and she's sort of been welcomed into what Alex privately calls the Scoobies – Kara’s inner circle of civilian do-gooders that just won’t stop trying to help. She still hovers on the edges, not quite 'one of them' yet, but she comes out drinking with them, and to game nights once in a while. She’s good people.  She and Alex aren't close, though, definitely not close enough that Alex would have told her about this spot - accessible only by winding dirt road high on a cliff overlooking the ocean. And anyway, Alex would have remembered telling Lucy about this place. 

Because this place is _hers._

It’s the place she comes to when she needs to stare out at the Pacific and teach her lungs how to open again. The place she comes to when there’ve been one too many close calls and she needs to breathe in time with the waves washing ceaselessly on the shore until her heart remembers how not to beat too hard against her ribcage.

"Sorry, didn't think anyone else knew about this place and I'd leave, but -" Lucy waves the beer bottle vaguely in Alex' direction. "I've got a couple more if you want one, though." 

And okay, Alex wanted to be alone but...free beer. 

"Sure, why not,” she shrugs and slips onto the still-warm metal of the Mustang’s hood.  

* * *

 

Two beers down and Alex’ butt is kind of numb from sitting on the hood of the car but the sky overhead is midnight velvet scattered with diamonds and she can't remember why she needed to come up here anymore.  Beneath the vast expanse of softened California night, she feels like she can fit into her bones again, like she’s not going in three different directions anymore. There’s an edge creeping into the air now that the sun’s long gone but it’s not enough to be unpleasant. Just enough to make you aware of your skin. She and Lucy have been sitting here, watching the sun set, and then the moon rise, watching the silver lines of the waves crashing onto the beach 50 feet below for almost two hours and they've barely spoken. 

Alex decides she likes Lucy. 

When they're both on their third beer and somehow end up leaning against each other, laying back against the windshield, Lucy's shoulder against Alex' is the only point of warmth on her whole body.

Alex decides she likes Lucy a lot. 

* * *

 

Alex' spot becomes 'their' spot. They don't talk about it. Don't arrange anything. Sometimes Alex shows up and Lucy's not there, sometimes she is. They drink, and lean together and don't talk and slowly, Alex realizes it’s easier to breathe when Lucy's around, her heart doesn't feel quite so heavy under her ribs.  Sometimes she wonders what that means. Other times, she just tells that voice in her head to shut up and leans against Lucy on the hood of that Mustang, content to watch the sky darken overhead until her head is quiet and the ceaseless rush of the waves on sand is lulling her to sleep.    

* * *

 

They've been doing this for about two months when the silence breaks.

It's been a long damn week of extraordinarily long missions and too much bad luck, and to top it off, the temps are hitting record highs. Even for SoCal. Everyone is hot and miserable and the beach is overcrowded so when Alex gets to their spot and sees only Lucy's car, she's never been so relieved. 

They don't even drink beer - too much danger of dehydration – instead just sharing bottles of ice water from Lucy's cooler, condensation sweating the sides of the plastic, making Alex' palms slick. She welcomes it, wipes the cool beads of water across her face where it mixes with sweat even though it barely lasts long enough to make a difference. The heat seems like a physical weight, pressing in on them from the horizon, clinging to the earth even though the sun went down an hour ago. Farther down the beach - closer to the city - they can hear people, most people not ready to go home either. Along the shore, tiny points of red and orange bloom, fires for those that are staying into the night.  This far down though, closer to the jutting points of rock and away from the popular surfing areas and piers its quiet.

"The hell with this," Lucy mutters suddenly, shoving herself off the hood and rummaging around inside the passenger seat. She pops up with a flashlight and a couple of towels. "I'm going swimming. You in?" 

Alex doesn't even hesitate. 

 

* * *

 

The slide and stumble down the hill, showering each other with sand and laughing like idiots, somehow managing not to trip and kill themselves. They hit the bottom running and somehow it’s just easy to shed shoes and shirts as they run. Alex nearly trips trying to get out of her slacks, laughing so hard she can’t breathe, giddy with the thrill of indiscretion. That’s definitely it. It has nothing to do with the sight of Lucy’s bare back and the curve of her hips as she throws her bra onto the sand and goes leaping into the waves, shrieking at the cold water. Alex must be out of her mind because the next thing she know, she – Alex Danvers, federal agent – is throwing her underwear down at the end of a haphazard trail of clothes and sprinting after Lucy.

It’s cold – the Pacific is always cold – but oh god after the oppressive heat of the day it feels liberating, like Alex can _move_ again and she laughs, squealing and splashing Lucy like they’re kids and then trying to cover the noise they’re making because oh shit what if someone hears? They play like that until all the heat bleeds away out of their veins and muscles and there are goosebumps on Alex’s shoulders and chest and her nipples are hard.

Lucy’s are too and she’s trying not to look but…but the moonlight is soft and cool on Lucy’s skin and she’s facing Alex, fearless and smiling that half-cocked smile that Alex realizes she’s gotten used to seeing, the one that makes something flutter in her stomach, makes something clench.

“You know they may have changed the law, but there’s one reason I don’t miss being in,” Lucy says, letting the waves push her toward Alex. Alex is frozen, cold water rushing around her thighs and suddenly aware of being _naked_. She’s starting to shiver, or maybe she’s just trembling because that’s Lucy’s fingertips on her face, tracing her cheeks and oh…

When had this happened?

“I never would have done this,” Lucy whispers, and kisses her.

Lucy’s lips taste like salt and the remains of whatever lip balm she was wearing and she’s gentle and careful, warm where the rest of Alex is cold – except for her hands, because they’ve found their way to Lucy’s hips. Lucy kisses like she means it, like she _wants_ it, slow and sure and wickedly skillful and Alex feels uncertain and clumsy but she’s as full as the ocean she’s standing in, awash with a hunger she’s denied for so long the sudden realization threatens to drag her down like an undertow.

“There you are,” Lucy whispers against her mouth when Alex’ hands tighten on her hips. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” Lucy says, kissing the corner of Alex’ mouth, her jaw, her neck.  They’re close enough their breasts touch and Lucy hisses softly.

Alex groans, fights through the rising tide of need coiling in her belly. “You have?” she manages, and she’d hate that her voice breaks but Lucy has her lips on Alex’ pulse point and _fuck._

A low laugh, soft and sweet, and lips against her throat is Alex’ answer. “Since the day you let me stay even though I could tell I stole your spot.”

“Oh,” Alex sighs and lets Lucy pull her closer. She wants to say ‘me too,’ or ‘wow’ or ‘thanks,’ but instead she just kisses Lucy, lets herself drown in that warm wet mouth and its good. It’s so good. Like she just dove headlong beneath the water again, she feels washed clean again, the waves taking the sticky, oppressive heat away and leaving just the two of them behind, shivering and new in the breeze, holding each other up against the tide.

 

fin


End file.
